The Elixir of Immortality

by Gabi Gleichmann

  Seven drops of this preparation will hold Death at bay and give eternal life.

  One day when he realized that he was no longer fully in possession of all his faculties and knew that he had little time left before he would meet his maker, Baruch instructed his eldest son, Simon, in the secrets of cultivating the Raimundo plant and preparing the secret tincture. First, however, Simon had to take a solemn vow never to reveal the secret to anyone other than his eldest son and in no circumstances to prepare the potion himself or ingest a single drop.

  “I created the Raimundo plant because it was my wish that my king should live and reign forever over the country,” Baruch explained to him. “Afonso Henriques was a powerful man, one whose stern gaze terrified everyone it transfixed. He hated disobedience more than anything in the world. If he discovered one of his subjects was violating his rules and breaking his commandments, he sent that person straight off to the torture chamber and his zealous executioners. No one lasted longer than three days with those wicked men and their special gifts in devising prolonged and agonizing executions. Everyone lived in abject terror of the king and he knew it. But he was like a father to me and he was vigilant with his protection. That caused resentment among the nobles of the court. They were so consumed with envy that they spread slanders about me—they claimed I was some sort of lord of black magic, good for nothing but poisoning people. I have always been weak and inoffensive, both in heart and spirit, and since I was the only Jew at court, my position was anything but secure. The nobles of the court presented themselves as honorable, but many were as treacherous as vipers. They amused themselves by sneering at me and speaking ill of me behind my back. After Afonso Henriques died, I thought my days at the court were numbered. You must understand that my principal concern in creating the Raimundo plant was for myself and for my family; I wanted the elderly king to live forever. But on the day that I was preparing to administer seven drops of it to him, I suddenly had second thoughts. It was as if something had exploded within me. The king had started to show signs of senility and he was behaving atrociously. That day he became annoyed at a servant who had spilled a couple of drops of wine on the table. Cursing under his breath, he picked up a dagger, struck the man, and gouged out his right eye. I will never forget the servant’s scream of pain, his distorted face, and the blood running down it. I tried to help the poor man, but the king wouldn’t allow it. He smiled, derisive and scornful. It was impossible to save the man’s eye. Then and there, I suddenly realized how repellent I found the thought of an increasingly confused Afonso Henriques who would be eternally punishing imagined enemies, torturing his loyal followers, and having them beheaded. At that moment, I also realized that there is no greater curse on earth than eternal life. Believe me: The setting of the sun lends weight, beauty, and grandeur to our days. Life is short and that is our Creator’s single greatest gift to us. His other gift is death, for which we should be humbly grateful.”

  Simon listened with a grave expression on his face and wondered if he had really grasped the meaning of that last remark in his father’s long exposition. He couldn’t see how one could possibly feel grateful for having inevitably to leave a world that seemed so splendid. But his respect for his father prevented him from following that thought any further. All he could say was, “Father, you can live as long as you wish; all you have to do is take the Raimundo remedy.”

  “Simon, when one perceives that memory and mind are fading, it is time to make a conscious choice and surrender to death. Remember, once one reaches a certain advanced age it is only the fear of death, not the desire for life, that keeps one imprisoned within one’s body.”

  “I hear your words, Father,” Simon answered. “But don’t be offended if I fail to understand everything. Why are you telling me all this and entrusting the secret of the elixir to me and my descendants if it should never be used? Wouldn’t it have been better to keep the recipe secret by destroying it?”

  “When I was young,” Baruch replied, “I once met an old man—I believe to this day that he was our great prophet Moses—who thundered a prophecy at me. If I obeyed the commandments engraved on his stone tablets, discovered the great secret, and safeguarded it, my children and my children’s children would go forth, heads high, for a thousand years. That meant we are destined to be the guardians of the secret of immortality. But if any one of us fails to comply with his commandment, our line will end there.”

  Baruch paused for a moment and then said emphatically, “You must always be on your guard. Many are obsessed with the dream of eternal life and are ready to do anything to secure the great secret. They will not hesitate to murder you to obtain it.”

  Simon listened attentively. He asked no more questions. He promised again never to taste of the potion, to safeguard the secret, and eventually to confide it to his eldest son.

  The knowledge of the Raimundo plant and of the elixir of immortality was scrupulously preserved by four generations of the eldest sons of the Espinosas.

  ONE ASSUMES more often than not that individuals close to authority participate in events or are affected by the ideas of the age. But games of political intrigue had scarcely any effects upon the court physicians who bore the Espinosa name. Quite unlike other court physicians, they were more or less excluded because they were Jews. They were reduced to observing the activity in the Portuguese court from a distance.

  This exclusion not only inculcated in them a certain feeling of alienation; it also taught them the art of slipping gracefully away while remaining ever patient and servile. It also kept them from indulging in any sort of pride or aspiring to power. They remained resolutely blind to intrigue and deaf to flattery. They were absolutely honorable and indifferent to sentiment; they thought of nothing but their arduous work and devoted themselves to it from the break of day until late at night. Their fealty to their royal masters was unshakable, even though in their innermost hearts they were more devoted to fulfilling their God’s wishes than to pleasing earthly powers. No taste for novelty was cultivated in their homes; they were people for whom novel thoughts and ideas were void of significance and therefore dangerous. Their exaggerated respect for the prevailing order prevented them from thinking for themselves. They were careful in all matters to hold exactly the views fit for a loyal Jewish subject. They were pedantic and wholly without brilliance, individuals who devoted their lives to compounding medicines from organic plants. They strictly confined themselves within the narrow boundaries of their technical knowledge. They lived their lives honoring the memory of Baruch, the founder of their line, who with his great arsenal of miraculous herbal medicines was considered as great as King Mithridates of Pontus.

  BARUCH TAUGHT HIS SONS to conceal from others their innermost thoughts and to make themselves indispensable. His words were passed from father to son from generation to generation:

  More is to be gained by fostering dependence than through winning respect. A man who has drunk his fill will turn away from the well. Once you are no longer needed, you will no longer be esteemed. Learn this as the most important principle in life: foster dependency and never satisfy it entirely; make certain that no one, not even the king, can do without you. But never indulge in excess. Watchful silence is the holy refuge of wisdom.

  According to my great-uncle, the one who turned to evil ends the virtues of the Espinosa clan—if virtues they were—was Chaim.

  ISRAEL DE ESPINOSA had no luck at all when it came to children. He longed to have sons, inheritors who would become physicians and carry on the family tradition. His wife gave birth to twelve children, every one a daughter. His house was packed to the ceiling with fifteen women: his wife, the twelve daughters, his mother, and a deaf spinster aunt often afflicted by fits of epilepsy.

  Israel was convinced that his life was cursed. In his view, a single daughter would have been sufficient. But twelve—there were far too many of them; it was a full-blown catastrophe. After the births of the first five he became downhearted and no l
onger read out the prayers of thanksgiving in the synagogue. He no longer selected the names of the daughters but left that to his wife. He greeted each successive arrival of a child with new anger and a sense of helplessness. He would not permit himself to show the least sign of consideration for his daughters. He tried not to allow himself to be affected by them and did everything he could to forget them. To that end, he withdrew and spent all of his time sequestered in one part of the house.

  Israel was the king’s personal physician and Lisbon’s most respected medical practitioner. He dared not seek advice from his colleagues, for he was afraid of risking his reputation. Instead, he secretly visited quacks and faith healers, who assured him that his wife was to blame because by his very nature the man stands higher in the order of things than the woman. The first of them suggested that he administer to his wife the urine of a pregnant donkey and have her eat dried palm leaves for ten days and ten nights. The second advised that even though his wife was Jewish, she should confess herself to a priest, pray to the Virgin Mary three times a day, and fast for a week after menstruating. The third mixed a bitter potion of rare herbs. His wife drank it but then she began to run a high fever, fell desperately ill, and vomited blood. Despite this experience, she was willing to undertake any sacrifice in order to please her husband. But nothing seemed to help.

  One moonlit night when all avenues seemed to be closed to them, his wife decided to take things into her own hands. She knew that it was her duty not to leave this world without giving birth to a healthy son who after her husband’s death would read Kaddish over him and inherit his estate. This being so, she suggested that Israel join her in making one last effort. They would divest themselves of all their clothes and remain naked as he rubbed his hand over her body until midnight. At that hour he was to penetrate her and leave his member within her until the dawn. Reluctantly, Israel agreed and did so.

  Nine months later the house was filled with cries of joy. Israel leaned over the newborn, kissed the infant boy on the forehead, and named him Chaim, which means “life” in Hebrew.

  CHAIM HAD TWELVE SISTERS and was the youngest of the crowd. From the day of his birth there was not the least doubt that the only son of the court physician Israel de Espinosa, his father’s pride and joy, would uphold the family’s reputation and follow in his father’s footsteps.

  The long-awaited heir was the very image of his father, aside from the fact that the little fellow had not inherited Israel’s gigantic nose. He emerged into the world with the face of a little old man; he looked like a sixty-year-old with his wrinkles, bald head, and sunken cheeks, as if he had already followed a long career dealing with the onerous duties of the physician to the Portuguese royal court.

  No one in the family said aloud what they were all thinking at the sight of the hideous little boy, since in those times women were not allowed to express their opinions. Only the eldest sister, a woman who scandalized folks with her bold speech, spoke up.

  Leah was a psychic and could see beyond the mere appearance of things. She glanced at the newborn and immediately declared that a curse lay upon him. Her father dismissed this and replied that such a day not only was auspicious because of heavenly benevolence but was also a time for generosity and celebration. Leah responded that she could not withhold the unfortunate truth, since it stood clearly written on the boy’s forehead that the long-awaited son would bring great shame on the family.

  The father rebuked his daughter and said her words sprang from unmotivated envy, she was wicked, and she should be ashamed. The arrival at long last of a family heir was a gift from above, for heaven had finally blessed a womb that had produced nothing but girls.

  But Leah stood her ground. Israel’s face darkened with anger. He threatened to cut out Leah’s sharp tongue if she uttered another word. Then he bellowed at her to leave the house and never show her face again. The daughters were thrown into a panic. No one had ever seen their mild-mannered father in such a rage or even heard him raise his voice. His wife thought for a moment that the joy of finally having a boy in the family had temporarily robbed Israel of his senses.

  Leah was terrified. She slouched away, muttering to herself that no one could escape fate, and she crawled into a narrow space in the attic. She didn’t make a sound for the next thirty years, and she never left her hiding place in the house.

  THE YEARS PASSED quickly. One afternoon, as the Espinosa family was busily preparing for a celebration and setting out the tastiest dishes on the occasion of Chaim’s twentieth birthday, a page arrived with a message from King Dionysius I. Israel de Espinosa and his son, Chaim, were summoned immediately into his presence. Israel hurried off, for he was concerned that the king might have had a relapse.

  A few days earlier Dionysius I had been brought back from a journey to Andalusia in a terrible condition, unconscious, bathed in sweat, with a high fever and diarrhea, his garments soaked with excrement and urine. Israel took the king’s pulse and for a moment was struck by a feeling of helplessness. He couldn’t decide what would be better for the patient, to dose him with herbal medicines or to call a father confessor to administer the sacrament of Extreme Unction. But after a rapid examination he concluded that His Majesty’s suffering was due to the fact that his bodily fluids had gotten out of balance, provoking intestinal difficulties and a high fever, all because his gallbladder had failed. While the queen held the king’s hand and pleaded with God to hear her prayers, so that Dionysius I might not die but instead live to her own great joy and that of the whole kingdom, Israel prepared an extract of four types of herbs stirred in a concoction of various roots and plant juices. A few hours later the king opened his eyes, hands trembling and face deadly pale. He no longer looked like the great warrior who had overwhelmed all opposition on every battlefield, but at least he was alive and appeared to be mending.

  Dionysius I welcomed the father and son in his throne room and told them that thanks to his personal physician’s outstanding care and effective herbal remedies, he had recovered his health and strength with unexpected speed. Israel felt a great sense of relief and was able to breathe once more.

  The king rose from the throne and went forth to Chaim, placed a great, heavy hand on his shoulder, and inspected him closely. He said he understood that Chaim had been receiving instruction in medicine from his father since he was a boy. The young man stood there as if petrified and sought some answer for the king but could not manage to utter a word in reply.

  The king looked deep into Chaim’s eyes and commented that he must be exceedingly proud of his father, who was not only a gifted teacher but also a wise man, reliable and discreet, a royal subject who never plagued his master with meaningless chatter, unwarranted curiosity, or lack of respect. The king was convinced that on the Day of Judgment Israel would be forgiven for his Jewish heritage because of his good character and remarkable accomplishments as a physician.

  As a token of his appreciation, the king had decided—as had his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfather before him—that the son of his personal physician would one day follow in the steps of his father.

  Dionysius I asked Chaim if he would like to travel to Granada to study medicine and to receive comprehensive instruction from Faraj Ibn Hassan, the personal physician of the powerful sultan Muhammed II. Ibn Hassan was familiar with everything having to do with the art of medicine and had deeper knowledge than all of his contemporaries on the Iberian Peninsula. The young man affirmed, “Yes, I certainly would.” The king was pleased to hear it, for everything had already been arranged. Chaim would leave the town of his birth the very next morning.

  Filled with deep gratitude, Israel fell to his knees before the king and exclaimed that His Majesty was the most kindhearted man on earth. At the same time he sent a prayer up to heaven, for he knew that God’s eyes were upon him. Perhaps the Almighty was sitting on the throne of glory, pleased that his inept servant would one day be succeeded as royal physician by his son, fulfilling the t
radition of several generations.

  Chaim could feel fate smiling upon him. His eyes filled with tears. He tried to say something but again failed to find the right words.

  ———

  IT WAS not without a certain apprehension that Israel sent the pride of his family away to Granada. He knew all too well that the boy, so beloved and spoiled by his father and sisters, was naïve and inexperienced, unready for the wide world. He gave Chaim the following words of advice: “For more than a century our hands have touched kings, queens, governors, and the heads of other noble men and women and have cured the ills of their bodies. You carry a great heritage, and on your shoulders rests the responsibility for preserving the good name of our family. Never should you undertake anything without asking counsel of your teachers. Wise is he who follows good advice. You have always been hasty and impatient in everything. You must learn serenity and patience, for haste will only sow stones on the road to good fortune. Everything that exists in the world was created with due deliberation. Remember that he of modest abilities achieves more with diligence than the overly talented man who is indolent. Reputation is won at the price of hard work. Anything achieved with little effort is worth little.”

  CHAIM WAS IMMEDIATELY ENCHANTED by Granada. Eyes wide and head held high, he wandered through the various quarters of the city, luxuriating in the way Granada with its sudden perfumes of jasmine and essential oils wrapped its inviting arms around him. The city was rich in everything he valued: splendid, proud buildings and gardens, running water, greenery, and birdsong. It was a true paradise of all imaginable delights; there were pleasures more refined and intense than any he had ever experienced in his native city, and in addition, the people were most captivating. He loved to listen to the way the tones of Andalusian malouf music echoed in the narrow alleyways. With its warmth and Oriental notes it was practically the same as the Hebrew psalms and hymns his community used to sing with such fervor in the synagogue of his childhood, provoking such a feeling of joyous exultation in him. Here in the tolerance of the Moorish caliphate he felt the breezes of freedom for the first time.